


To Have And Have Not - A Tale Of Three Satinalias

by autumnyte



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Canon LGBTQ Character, Drama, Fluff, Gift Fic, Holidays, M/M, Romance, Satinalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a gift fic written for Khroma as part of the DA Holiday Cheer gift exchange on tumblr. The story is a glimpse at three different Satinalias shared by his Hawke (Elliot) and Fenris during the course of their friendmance. It is peppered with a little bit of angst, but it’s mostly fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1 - A First For Fenris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khroma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khroma/gifts).



It was an unsettlingly quiet night. Most of the Hightown nobles were attending Satinalia festivities over at the Viscount’s Keep, leaving Fenris’s neighborhood unusually devoid of activity. Only the whiffle of the wind against his mansion’s tall stone walls and the occasional, inexplicable creaking of a floorboard served to punctuate the silence.

Fenris was curled up in a large armchair at the center of his sitting room, legs drawn up against his chest, chin resting comfortably on his knee. He was nursing a small bottle of Antivan red he had discovered in Danarius’s cellar. The wine had not been among the best vintages in his former master’s collection, but he found it passable enough for an uneventful evening alone. As he sipped, he closed his eyes and imagined the feast he was missing at the Hanged Man—the inevitable laughter and merriment—and felt a twinge of regret at having turned down the invitation.

Despite the wine flowing through his veins, Fenris shivered, noting that the room had grown both darker and colder. After setting down the wine bottle, he stood, making his way over to the hearth and bending down to stoke the dying fire. A satisfied smile began to form on his mouth as he watched the flames flicker more brightly, until he was startled from his task by a loud rapping at the door. He glanced across the room, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together as he contemplated his longsword, which was propped up in the corner.

After a moment, he muttered a terse, “unnecessary,” to the empty room. Bounty hunters were not in the practice of knocking, and it was doubtful that the Seneschal’s tax collectors would be working during Satinalia.

He picked up a candlestick from the table, its faint glow providing the only illumination as he walked swiftly through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the foyer. He peered through a crack in the front door, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upward when he saw who was standing on the other side.

“Hawke.” Fenris opened the door and greeted his visitor. As he stepped aside to allow the man entry, he caught a whiff of several mingling smells: crisp night air; the Hanged Man’s sour ale; seasonal spices—ginger, cinnamon, mint, clove; and a trace scent of the distinctive magic he had come to associate with Hawke.

“Evening, Fenris. You can call me ‘Elliot’, if you like. Most of my friends do.” The mage flashed a warm grin that Fenris could see clearly, even in the dim light.

It was a suggestion that Hawke had made previously, and although Fenris had attempted to address the man by his first name, he had found it difficult. Perhaps it was because he felt Hawke was owed a level of respect that referring to him in such a familiar manner might not confer. More likely, it was because the notion of having a mage as a friend—or possibly, even more than a friend—was still not entirely fathomable to him.

“Elliot, then.” Fenris lifted the candle, holding it between them and narrowing his eyes to study the other man’s face. “To what do I owe the… pleasure of your visit? It must have been quite a walk from Lowtown at this hour.”

“Oh, I just wanted to—Maker, it’s dark in here. Have I come at a bad time? Are you… you weren’t sleeping, were you?” Elliot was rambling more than usual and there was a slight-but-unmistakable slurring of his words that led Fenris to conclude he had imbibed a fair bit of ale over the course of the evening.

“No.” Fenris shook his head, then pointed at the golden glow peeking from the open door on his second floor. “I simply find it unnecessary to light the entire mansion when I use only a single room. Do you… wish to join me upstairs? We could continue our conversation with a bit more light.”

He led Elliot up the steps slowly, concerned that his inebriated companion’s gait might be unsteady, particularly in the dark. Once they made their way to Fenris’s sitting room, he directed Elliot to a chair in front of the fire, directly across from his own.

“Care for some wine?” Fenris lifted the bottle, offering the only gesture of hospitality he was equipped to provide.

Elliot smiled and held up a hand in refusal. “No, thank you. I really shouldn’t. Varric already plied me with far too much ale tonight. One more drink and you’ll probably find yourself saddled with an overnight guest.”

Fenris swallowed thickly, cheeks suffusing with heat at the thought of Elliot spending the night. “You… enjoyed the feast, I take it?”

“Typical Hanged Man—the food was disgusting, but the company was good.” Elliot laughed. Not for the first time, Fenris found himself captivated by the way firelight played against the man’s handsome, freckled face. “Isabela recited bawdy limericks and then tried to explain them in elaborate detail to Merrill. Varric regaled the entire tavern with tales of the Hightown society and past Feastday scandals. His stories even made Carver stop moping for a change. Aveline couldn’t make it, though. She’s on duty tonight. And Anders… never showed.” He looked up, meeting Fenris’s gaze. “I thought, I mean, I wondered… if you might make an appearance.”

Fenris took a swig of wine and said nothing.

A moment of awkward silence passed between them, which Elliot was quick to fill. “This is your first Satinalia in Kirkwall, isn’t it? How do you find it so far?” He gestured toward the walls and smirked. “I love what you’ve done with the place. The decorative holiday cobwebs are… festive.”

Fenris chuckled. “I assure you, it presents quite a challenge to keep the place looking this way.” Leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee, his expression darkened. “Things here are… different. In Minrathous, Satinalia is observed as it was in ancient times. The revelry lasts for a week or more. It is customary for magisters to temporarily trade places with chosen slaves—a supposed gesture of equality.” He scoffed. “It is far from the reprieve one might imagine. The magisters serve their slaves excessive amounts of food, on which they are forced to gorge. Then, after the slaves are uncomfortably stuffed, they are typically made to wrestle one another, or race naked through the streets until they become ill, all for the amusement of the magisters.” He scowled and then, registering Elliot’s wide-eyed look of disgust, decided to end his tale there, rather than spoiling the conversation further by delving into the even more unsavory elements of Tevinter tradition. He shrugged. “Perhaps you can understand why I am unaccustomed to considering it an occasion for merriment.”

Elliot sighed. “And to think, some people actually complain that the Free Marches have lost sight of Satinalia’s original meaning. Those traditions _needed_ to get lost. I enjoy the holiday, but I’m no supporter of the old god, Zazikel. I’m not… even particularly fond of the second moon. I just really like giving people gifts.” He reached into his satchel and withdrew a tiny, red parcel. “Which, uh, brings me to the reason for my visit, in fact. To give you this.” Opening his hand, Elliot extended his arm in offering.

Reflexively, Fenris shook his head. “I cannot accept.”

Elliot’s friendly expression didn’t falter as he shifted closer to Fenris, still holding out the parcel. “Suit yourself. But I should warn you that rejecting a gift on Satinalia means seven years bad luck.”

“Hmm. That would be unfortunate. I require every bit luck I can manage,” Fenris said, the left side of his mouth curving upward. He glanced down and studied the small, red package with a white satin ribbon tied around it. “It’s just that…” His voice went low and his eyes darted away. “I have never received a gift before. And I have nothing to offer you in return.”

When he looked up to meet Elliot’s gaze, Fenris was relieved to find no trace of pity there. The man was still smiling, his brow creased in determination, his arm remaining stubbornly extended.

“Everyone’s exempt from gift-giving on their first Satinalia in a new city. That’s the rule… or it’s my rule, anyway. Truly, I wasn’t expecting anything. But I want you to have this. Open it, and you’ll see I’m not being entirely selfless.”

Taking a deep breath, Fenris reached out and accepted the parcel, grasping one end of the ribbon between his slender fingers and pulling it neatly to untie the bow.

As it turned out, the wrapping consisted of a long, crimson scarf, made of such fine quality satin that it would have been a generous—albeit impractical—gift all on its own. Nestled in the very center of the scarf was a plain, silver ring. The instant he touched it, Fenris could sense it was imbued with powerful magic.

“It’s enchanted,” Elliot said, a hint of uneasiness in his tone. He added hastily, “Not by forbidden magic or anything. I’ve seen you use magical weapons and amulets before, so I hoped that this… that you wouldn’t mind.”

Fenris rolled the ring between his thumb and forefinger, examining it more closely. “I have been known to use enchanted objects, provided they pose no potential harm. Unlike a mage, a ring is not likely to deal with a demon. Those of us without magic must protect ourselves using whatever advantages we can take.” He uttered the words thoughtlessly, and bit his lip as soon as they left his mouth. Although he had no wish to disguise his opinion of mages, he did regret his tendency toward tactless outbursts on the matter, particularly in front of Elliot.

Elliot nodded, however, and seemed unbothered by the remark. “It was crafted especially for a warrior. The merchant called it a ‘Band of Emancipation’. As soon as I saw it, it occurred to me that its particular properties would be a nice compliment, but the name made me think of you as well. I picked it up months ago, but I’ve been saving it until Satinalia, because I figured you’d never—” The mage covered his mouth, clearly having revealed more than he intended. “Ugh. To the Void with Varric’s ale,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, that ring should give you a substantial amount of added protection, as well as an extra edge in battle.”

“I… thank you.” Fenris felt a tightness in his chest. It was evident how much thought had gone into the gift, and he was keenly aware that such a powerful item must not have come cheaply. Whatever the cost, it was surely more than a Lowtown-dwelling mage in the process of raising coin for an expedition could afford. “I fear it is too generous.”

“Trust me, it’s not that generous.” Elliot smiled and leaned forward in his chair. “You risk your neck every time I drag you along on a job, which has been increasingly often. Whenever we run into trouble, you’re always the first one charging forward, sword drawn. I’d like to see you stay in one piece. Think of it as a token of thanks. It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude. Unless… you have a more interesting idea in mind.” The mage waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

It was common for Elliot to jest in such a manner, and Fenris could never tell if his flirtations were merely an attempt to lighten the mood, or if there was something more significant behind them. Fenris was unprepared to deal with the latter possibility, in spite of the undeniable attraction he felt, so he responded with a smirk. “This will do nicely… for now.” He closed his fist around the ring.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” Elliot slowly rose to his feet. “It’s late. I should be heading back to Gamlen’s, before mother worries too much.”

Fenris stood as well, clutching the silk scarf in one hand and the ring in the other.

“I can see myself out.” Elliot lifted the candlestick and turned to depart. “Happy Satinalia, Fenris.”

“Good night.”

Fenris sank back into his chair, listening to the front door creak open and click shut. He slid the ring onto his forefinger and carefully folded the scarf, tucking it into his belt pouch for safekeeping.

As he sat in the empty room, Elliot’s voice and the words ‘Happy Satinalia’ echoed in his mind. Although Fenris would not go so far as to call the day ‘happy’, he had to admit—gazing down at his gift with a smile—it had been unexpectedly pleasant.


	2. Act 2: Dum Vita Est, Spes Est

The exterior of the Hawke Estate was resplendent with Satinalia decorations. Lush swaths of greenery and shiny baubles covered every eave and wall. A particularly large and elaborate garland, adorned with thick, red ribbon, was draped over the threshold to the main entryway.

Fenris stood outside the front door and stared up at the garland, fixating blankly on a dangling pinecone. He lingered there for nearly a quarter of an hour, debating whether or not to turn around and retreat to his mansion.

A raucous peal of laughter could be heard inside, confirming that the festivities were already well underway. Fenris was not surprised by this, given that it had taken him over an hour to work up enough nerve to walk across Hightown. He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and lifted a fist to knock on the door.

Bodahn greeted him, the potent fragrances of pine and spiced cider filling his nostrils as he was ushered inside. The foyer was even more ornate than the outside entrance, but Fenris found his eyes drawn to one particular section of the wall. It contained no decorations, but it was covered in memories, bringing instantly to mind the night of passion that had haunted his thoughts for the past two months.

“Fenris?” Elliot’s eyes widened as Bodahn led him into Great Hall. The tumbler of cider the mage was holding appeared to slip almost completely from his grasp. With a shaking hand, he placed it down on a table. “I… didn’t think you’d come.”

The rest of Elliot’s usual companions were present, and their heads all seemed to turn in unison. Fenris noted a blur of waving hands and heard a jumble of murmured greetings directed at him. His cheeks turned a deep red at Elliot’s words and he wondered if he had misinterpreted the man’s invitation. Perhaps it had been extended as merely a formality.

Elliot stepped toward him quickly. He wore a smile so tentative that it made Fenris’s chest ache. “What I mean is, I’m glad you came. We… haven’t seen each other much lately.” The mage lowered his voice, brown eyes gazing intently into Fenris’s. “You haven’t even been by to read. I realize you haven’t actually needed the lessons for a while, but… you didn’t have to just stop.”

Fenris opened his mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words. He scanned the room to discover that the rest of the group had gone quiet and were observing the two of them.

Varric caught Fenris’s eye and winked. The dwarf cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Andraste’s frilly knickers, what was I thinking? I left out my best joke earlier. Everybody might want to put down your drinks for a minute, this is a good one. So, a Qunari and a templar walk into a bathhouse…”

While the others turned their attention to Varric, Fenris let the dwarf’s voice fade into the background, focusing on Elliot again. After an extended, awkward pause, unable to think of anything else to say, he blurted out, “I brought you something.”

Until that moment, Fenris had been undecided about whether to actually give Elliot the gift, even though he had spent months working on it. But now that he’d mentioned it, there could be no going back. He withdrew the unwrapped item from his belt pouch and handed it over.

“Fenris—” Elliot let out a slow breath and ran his fingertips gingerly along the strip of brown leather and the white satin cord dangling from the bottom. “Did you make this?”

Fenris nodded. “It is intended to be used as a bookmarker.”

“Well, you know me. Always losing my place when I read.” Elliot let out a chuckle and almost managed to make it sound effortless. He held up the bookmarker and studied it more closely. “I never knew you could embroider leather. These words are… Arcanum?”

“Yes. It is a Tevinter proverb, ‘dum vita est, spes est’.”

The hint of forced mirth on Elliot’s face vanished and was replaced by a muted, more relaxed smile. “What does it mean?”

“It is… a foolishly optimistic phrase. It reminds me of you,” Fenris said. He coughed lightly into his fist when he realized his choice of wording had likely been insulting.

Elliot made a joke of it, however, placing a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “Ouch,” he said, smiling.

“It means—”

“Ooh, everybody look!” Isabela shouted. Fenris turned to find her pointing to the ceiling beam just above their heads. “Hawke and Fenris are standing beneath the cluster of embrium, and you know what that means.”

“Isabela, don’t.” Elliot frowned.

Isabela folded her arms across her chest and smirked. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who told me about this tradition. If you two don’t kiss now, it’s seven years bad luck.”

Elliot glanced at Fenris and shook his head. “You don’t have to,” he whispered.

Fenris knew he shouldn’t. He was still raw from the one night they had shared. He knew it would be cruel to both Elliot and himself. But he also knew he might never be given such a perfect excuse again, and he wanted desperately to kiss Elliot one last time.

His hands moved of their own volition, cupping Elliot’s face. Leaning forward, Fenris drew him gently closer and kissed him. Their lips brushed together softly, briefly, before Fenris pulled back and let go.

Elliot was breathless, his face flushed. The expression he wore caused Fenris to feel a sharp pang of longing and an even deeper ache of regret.

“So… um.” The mage looked away briefly, shifting his feet and scratching the back of his neck. “Before we were interrupted, you were telling me what this proverb means.” He held up the strip of leather again, cheeks still red.

“It means…” Fenris’s voice came out rougher and shakier than he wanted it to. “While there is life, there is hope.”


	3. Act 3 - Not Alone

Fenris let himself into the estate, opening his backpack and pulling out the items Elliot had asked him to pick up at the market. He laid them out on the table for Bodahn, then headed toward the study, where he suspected he would find Elliot.

It was the evening before Satinalia, and by the following night, the Hawke Estate would be packed wall-to-wall with holiday revelers. Elliot’s status as Champion often seemed to weigh him down with obligations, and this season was no different. He had told Fenris weeks ago, with a pronounced note of wistfulness, that it was no longer feasible to limit his Feastday guest list to a handful of trusted friends.

As for tonight, however, Elliot had invited Fenris over to spend some time alone—just the two of them. He had expressed a desire to share a quiet evening together, before the celebratory madness descended upon the estate. And although Elliot had not specifically made mention of it, Fenris was aware that this would be their first Satinalia together since resuming their romance.

Fenris crossed the threshold of the study to find his lover leaning against the wall, staring into the fire, a long, golden chain dangling between his fingers. Elliot’s lips were downturned and his brown eyes were marked with a sadness Fenris was not accustomed to seeing.

“Elliot?” Fenris spoke softly and stepped closer.

“Good. You came.” Elliot sighed and turned to face Fenris.

“Are you all right?” Fenris furrowed his brow. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing happened. I was just… thinking about mother.” After a pause, Elliot held out his hand, revealing a round locket, which Fenris instantly recognized.

“That belonged to your mother?” He already knew the answer, but asking seemed the appropriate thing to do.

Elliot nodded and moved closer, putting an arm around Fenris’s shoulder. He opened the locket and placed it in Fenris’s palm. There were two tiny oil paintings inside: the portrait on the left looked like Carver, and the one on the right was of a pretty, young brunette who Fenris assumed must be Bethany.

“The twins.” Elliot confirmed, his voice cracking. “A memorial, and a remembrance. I commissioned them for mother as a Satinalia gift the year she—” He didn’t finish the sentence. The unspoken word hung heavy in the air. His breath hitched before he continued. “I spent months working with the artist, describing them both, making sure he got all the details perfect. But in the end—she never got to see them.”

Fenris swallowed a lump. He wrapped an arm loosely around Elliot’s waist and said nothing.

“Mother loved Satinalia.” Elliot took back the locket and flipped it shut, then slipped it into his breast pocket. His voice dropped below a whisper. “Sometimes… I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Panic fluttered in Fenris’s chest and his muscles froze. He felt powerless in such situations and was terrified of saying something that would make Elliot feel worse. “Do you wish me to go? If you would prefer to be alone tonight, I understand.”

Elliot chuckled softly, incongruously, and pulled Fenris into an embrace. “I’m sorry. Tonight was supposed to be romantic, and instead, I’m turning maudlin. I’ll be fine. I guess I just wanted to talk about her, a little bit.” He loosened his hold and gazed at Fenris. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Fenris wrapped both arms around Elliot’s waist and kissed him deeply—their mouths open wide, warm tongues sliding against each other, soft lips pressed firmly together. Many minutes passed before he eventually pulled back, letting his forehead rest against Elliot’s.

“You are not alone.” Fenris said, still holding him tightly.

“I know.” Elliot smiled and circled his fingers around the red scarf at Fenris’s wrist. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something about this favor for ages. Is it—?”

“The scarf in which you wrapped my first Satinalia gift? Yes.” Fenris chuckled. “In fact, I have been meaning to ask _you_ about it. I find it curious that the scarf managed to outlast the ring, in spite of my wearing it constantly.”

“Well, in fairness, that ring was shattered by a very large, very angry Dragon.” Elliot’s shoulders shook with the merriment of someone who desperately needed a good laugh. “Anyway, that scarf is enchanted with protection against the elements. One Satinalia, when I was fourteen and my magic was still relatively new, I sort of… accidentally lit everyone’s gifts on fire. The next year, father wrapped all our presents in enchanted fabric, just in case. After that, it became a tradition.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You… accidentally lit gifts on fire? How is it that I have not yet heard this story?”

“Oh, Maker. Speaking of fire, we need to go upstairs. I just remembered I lit an absurd number of candles in the bedroom earlier, and leaving them unattended for so long could mean trouble.” He took Fenris’s hand, lacing their fingers together, gesturing toward the hallway with a tilt of his head. “Come with me and I promise to tell you the harrowing tale of my unintentional arson.”

“Lead the way, then,” Fenris said, leaning in to place a soft kiss against Elliot’s neck.

“I’m glad you’re here tonight.” Elliot’s eyes were bright and warm. “Happy Satinalia.”

Fenris considered the words for a moment, then returned a smile. “Yes, it is.”


End file.
